"It seemed like it ought to, Jim," he said.
I gave up. I handed him my chips. I said, "This is where I get off.
Take over, Professor. I've got to see a man about a town car!"
And I walked to the bar for a drink. I felt sort of sorry for the
owners of the College Clubbe. It was tough luck for them that, after
all these years, they should be the ones to play host to the first
fool-proof "system" in the history of gambling.
About twenty minutes later the crowd was shoulder deep about the
roulette table. I decided it was time to go take a look-see, and
fought my way to Hank's side. When I reached there I found that play
had been temporarily halted.
The croupier, green-gilled and glistening with sweat, stood before an
almost chipless board. The counters were chin-high before Hank. The
manager pressed through, spoke briefly to the croupier, then turned to
Hank.
"I understand, sir, you wish to make a final wager against the house.
Your entire stake on the fall of a single number?"
Hank nodded, embarrassed at being the center of attention.
"I sorta thought," he gulped, "it might be smart."
I groaned. The chips before Hank were a rainbow. At a rough estimate,
he was about thirty grand to the pink. To stake all that on one roll--a
38-to-1 shot for a 35-to-1 return--
"No, Hank!" I tugged his coat sleeve. "Cash in! Don't take a crazy
chance like that!"
He looked at me aggrievedly. "But it ain't what you might call a
chance, Jim. 'Pears to me like it's a sure thing for number nineteen to
come up. Way I see it--" He nodded to the manager. "Let 'er ride. The
works on number nineteen."
The manager nodded to the croupier, the croupier set the tiny
ball spinning. The crowd tensed, and a white blur chittered its
unpredictable path about the whirling wheel. The wheel slowed, the
ball slowed, my heart slowed. Then all three swooped into action,
the last with a lurching thump. The ball hesitated on the rim of the
double-zero, bounced to the 32, jogged to the lip of the 19, settled
there--
_Then hopped!_ The watchers groaned, and the voice of the croupier was
a high, thin bleat.
"Twenty-four--black--_passé!_"
My town car, my penthouse and my financial independence went
whuppety-flicker, like the tag end of a film racheting through a
projector. I glared into Hank's bewildered face, bawled at him
accusingly,
"See, you dope! All because you--"
He looked dazed, incredulous. He stammered,
"But it _had_ to be the nineteen, Jim! It couldn't be anything else,
don't you see? It _couldn't_--"
"It couldn't," I wailed, "but it was! You--"
Then he was no longer limp, uncertain, at my side. He was making a
leaping dive across the table at the croupier. The man yipped once,
lunged backward, and a pellet rolled from his hand. It was a duplicate
of that which now spun in the roulette wheel, but not _quite_ a dupe!
* * * * *
Instead of solid ivory, I knew it would turn out to have a steel core,
responsive to magnetic influence. The only thing that could break down
the analytical perfection of Horse-sense Hank was a gimmick! A gimmick
is a polite way of describing a cheap gambling trick.
"The durned crook!" Hank was howling. "He gypped me! I knew the
nineteen was due! Just as sure as fate it was due!"
Those were the last intelligible words for quite a while. For at that
instant some resourceful employee jerked a switch, plunging the College
Clubbe into darkness. People began to scream and struggle and run. I
heard the meaty impact of flesh on flesh, then the clatter of ivory
tokens on the polished flooring.